


Atomic Garden

by KingRichRock



Series: The World Won't Stop [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No SHIELD (Marvel), Bad religion records, CIA fic, Clint dont do the thing, Coulson's new team, Didn't See That Coming, Does thing anyway, F/F, F/M, Kate Bishop Unrequited Love, Lance and Clint like Punk Rock and Ska, Maybe Happy Clintasha, Minor Kate/Skye, Minor Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov Feels, Science Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingRichRock/pseuds/KingRichRock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold War AU! in which Natalia Alianova is the KGBs premiere assassin and Clint Barton is the CIAs most skilled hitman. Throw in a British teammate who has as much beer in his veins as blood and a smart ass teenager under Clint’s wing, and you have the makings of the most pivotal turning point in the Cold War. It is March 1989.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Out To Play

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this idea was bouncing in my head from a song I love plus Headcanons/Fics/Prompts I've read and had an idea to make them even more different.Please enjoy, and if you do comment or leave Kudos I'd appreciate Feedback. A lot. Shoutout to anyone who knows the song or the references made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Clint. A kick ass Archer who lives with his best friend/protege Kate Bishop, and SAS bad ass sniper Lance Hunter.  
> Given a mission to hunt the deadliest assassin in all of history, what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of what will be an emotional rollercoaster of five chapters. I hope you enjoy.   
> Update: There's an epilogue now too

The weather hadn't warmed yet in Bedford-Stuyvesant, and Clint Barton couldn't give a damn.  
He was out for an early morning run with his faithful pizza loving dog, Lucky, through their neighborhood. The air was brisk, but Lucky didn't mind as they made their way down the final street before approaching the apartment building they called home.  
As he neared the front steps of the worn Tennant Complex, he noticed his two roommates were on the steps waiting for him, one with a cup of coffee in hand and the other some English beer that was his typical breakfast. And in between them was a pot of coffee, black, and Lucky's dog bowl with water in it. Beside Clint's coffee pot sat the unmistakable sealed briefing packet.  
Fury. Or Coulson.  
It was Coulson who walked through the door to join the team outside, and Clint decided to click on his hearing aids for the imminent conversation he and his team were about to have with their handler.  
"Well Clint, it's good to see your training from the Army never died. And it's good to see this fellow here, now isn't it." Coulson says smiling, dropping down to Lucky's level to give him a few pets before handing Clint the very thick briefing packet.  
"Ah, good morning to you too Coulson." Clint said absentmindedly, grabbing a knife from his pocket to slash the seal on the briefing packet.  
"I haven't briefed the team yet, so why don't we head up and I can use the slide projector to show you everything you'll be dealing with. Because this is going to be your hardest mission to date. Possibly ever." Coulson said, rising to human level again, inviting them all into their own building, muffled groans about having been comfortable and the gulps from Clint and his coffee pot as the group makes their way up the stairs to the 13th floor.  
They make themselves comfortable as Hunter grabs the slide projector from under the TV, setting it up facing the purposefully blank wall in the apartment, normally used for mission prep or bootlegged movies. As they wait for it to power up, Kate goes to fill Luck's food bowl as Clint continues to drink his coffee before fully opening the briefing packet. On the front cover is the mission title, which catches Clint off guard, as he knew what would be inside before he opened it. The name was a legend in the spy community, but he knew some legends were true.  
Operation Black Widow  
The hairs on Clint's arm began to rise as his memory took over, mentally reciting the kill numbers their target had, the amount of CIA agents and military personnel who had died attempting to capture the Widow. Capture failed, so now they send in the Assassin, Clint thought to himself, eying his bows on the wall opposite the kitchen, debating to himself he wanted to use to kill the fabled Black Widow, the Soviet Unions most feared weapon, who singlehandedly kept the Cold War in their favor.  
"Ah Clint, I see you recognize the mark. That's good, means I can spend less time briefing and get back to D.C. sooner. Fury wants her dead, body as proof, brought to the U.N. headquarters in one month's time. It will be the grand opening of Operation Heaven is Falling, which will see the recapture and liberation of the Eastern Bloc. We're going to be bringing the fight to Gorbachev's door Clint, and the President himself wants you and your team to fire the first shot. Do you accept your mission, Agent Barton?" Coulson asked, keeping eye contact with Clint.  
There was no hesitation on his part.  
"Absolutely, sir. She'll be dead, one moths time. Arrow to the heart." Clint said, resuming his study of the briefing packet, leaving Coulson to make his way to the British sharpshooter and Clint's protégé.  
"Miss Bishop, Captain Hunter, neither of you are CIA agents, but that has never stopped you two from being invaluable assets to Hawkeye and his missions defending the world from Communism. We ask that you two will again join him on his journey to help the Democracy triumph the evils of Communism." He says, almost laughing before resuming a more composed and metered delivery. "I will not lie to either of you. The odds of mission failure and death are higher than ever. I want you two with Clint because the CIA has no agents anywhere on par with his skills. He trusts you two, and you all make an exceptionally solid unit. You would be doing your nations, hell, the world a favor by ending the life of a known assassin who has infiltrated American military bases and committed espionage and murdered top Government officials. Do you accept this mission?" he said, knowing their answers before he let the question hang. At least he thought he did.  
"Are you out of your bloody fucking mind Coulson? This is the fucking Black Widow. I've seen her in action, mate. In the Falkland Island War. She was there. Killed our Commander to try and get us out of the 'liberation' effort. Peronism was close enough to Communism for the damn Reds. We almost had her, but she was too quick. I'll never forget that Red Hair as she dived off the side of our Cruiser." Hunter said, taking a long pull on his beer before throwing it in the can, walking away to get another.  
Kate's face went white, and she backed away in order to sit down and think, Lucky at her side.  
"So Mr. Coulson, this is extremely dangerous, has a high chance of failure and death, but if we don't go, Clint will be on his own?" she asked, and Coulson knew that was his way in with the young Hawkeye.  
"Yes, he will. The CIA has no assets close to being skilled enough to accompany Clint on a mission of this magnitude. And even if we did, he wouldn't trust them, and it wouldn't be a well-oiled machine out there. People would be more likely to die. So I am asking you two, because, well, you're the best we've got." He finished, not having lied once.  
Kate was sold.  
"Well, if he needs us, we can't let Clint go on his own, he would die. And that would really suck." Kate finished, and she went over to Clint to start looking at the packet.  
Two down, one to go.  
Hunter grumbled under his breath before downing another beer. It was 7 in the morning. "Fuck it. If Clint and Kate here might get killed, they'll need me covering their asses. I'm in." was all the British commando had to say before he too made his way over to Clint, grabbing the third briefing readout and settling himself on the couch to begin the briefing.  
Coulson started up the slide projector, inserting every piece of picture documentation they had on the Black Widow. There were 4 pictures, and only one was an absolutely clear shot.  
"The target is known to us as the Black Widow, but the alias she seems to favor at the moment is Natalia Alianova. She has Short, straight red hair the color of blood. She is approximately 5' and 3" tall, weighing anywhere from 100-125 pounds. The Widow speaks twelve languages to our knowledge, without any trace of an accent. She can shoot the head off of a man from 100 yards out with a Kalashnikov. No scope. From the hip. You will not be able to get close for this one, so knives are out of the question. Hunter, we want you running support with an un-scoped M14 that has a dull coat and is made of wood. Can't risk any possibility that a flash from any glare will be spotted by her. Kate, I want you on the ground, but far away from the target. Close enough to see with the agencies observation glasses, which will magnify distance, so you can be a hundred yards out and identify her. I want you unarmed, as she seems to avoid killing unarmed civilians unless she has to. And Clint, I want you up top, running the show on a black takedown wooden recurve. We can't risk any possibility of you being spotted. Use a Brodhead, so when she tries to remove it, it'll drag organs with it. And I want you scoped with no glass because you can't be off by even an inch with this kill Barton. When she falls, Kate, it is on you to secure the body for Hunter to drive in and pick you up at rendezvous point D. Clint will meet both of you at rendezvous point H, and you will all make your way to the CIA chopper at point Z. Takeoff will be at 1400 Zulu time, which, for you Kate, is 2 pm local time there. Any questions?" Coulson asks, scrolling through the four pictures of the deadly Black Widow.  
"Where are we going to be, exactly?" Kate asked, surprised that such an important detail would be omitted from the packet.  
"Barton probably already knows." Coulson said, nonchalantly.  
Not really a specific answer, but the gears were already turning in Clint's head by the time Coulson was preparing his jacket to leave.  
"Coulson. She'll be in Prague, won't she? The country already isn't stable. She'll be there to kill the head of the movement to form a Republic. He'll be at a Hospital on a goodwill tour in 5 days when he returns from the Berlin Wall after a meeting in West Germany. She'll kill him there, at the hospital in front of his advisors, the public, and wounded revolutionaries. It will crush their spirit, and help end Perestroika, meaning the martial law that General Jeruzelski imposed can be brought back. It will end the effort for a Czechoslovakian Republic and could set the end of Communism back another decade. We have to kill her there." Clint said with a sort of seriousness that left no room for argument. Coulson merely smiled.  
"I'm glad a man as busy as you keep up on current events and the briefings we send you every day at the office. The plane will be at JFK at 0000 Zulu time, with take off at 00:30 after fueling. I'll see you three tomorrow, then." Coulson said, excusing himself.  
He left without another word, the door closing with a definite thud before Clint threw his briefing packet at the wall, an angry and guttural sound escaping his throat.  
"What in the hell is wrong with you, mate?" Hunter says, eyeing his friend cautiously.  
"Her. It had to be her. I knew the day would come when I cross paths with the Widow. But you guys, Democracy and Freedom are on our shoulders. If we fail, we run the risk of starting World War III. And even if we succeed, you know the battles will be bloody. And then there's of course how she plans to kill him. She can do anything. Poison, explosives, a bullet. We may never even spot her." Clint finished, calming himself down before sitting with his legs crossed on the ground, a pot of coffee in his hand and his faithful pizza eating dog by his side, staring at the pictures of the gorgeous Russian assassin before them.  
Her beauty was obvious, and for the first time, Clint finally understood why she was the Black Widow. She could lure any man, hell, any woman in, seduce them, and kill them with her perfectly timed movement when they merely think they're getting lucky. Her face is arguably the most beautiful he has ever laid eyes on, with her red hair framing her face in such a way that it was the center of attention, but still seemed to fade into his memory like any other one he had seen before. And that would be how she can so easily disappear in a crowd. Especially if she dyes her hair.  
But there was something in her eyes that shook him to his core. They were magnificent, a beautiful hue of green, but he noticed something was missing. In her eyes, there was a kind of gloss, an absence of humanity. They were dealing with someone so hardened to killing, they had lost the part of them that made them human. As far as he could tell, the Widow had no soul, making it easier for him to quantify the need for her to die.  
Kate still looked uneasy, but she was already taking stock of what she would need to wear to fit into the crowd and still be mobile enough to snag the body and be unnoticeable to someone who would be looking for her.  
Hunter was taking apart his beloved M14, which he had modified to be a semi-automatic sniper rifle. He was removing the silencer and the scope from it, meaning if he did have to take the Widow out, everyone for miles around would hear it ring out, making their job a thousand times harder, as they were in enemy territory, and the Soviet authorities would be very displeased to have their nations greatest asset dead in the streets.  
And Clint, well, he just grabbed his favorite takedown recurve, in a matte black, and went to work attaching a string silencer and a matte black scope with colored range indicators, but was still uneasy about his task.  
He went to bed shortly after their briefing and a large pizza, as they needed to be ready to fly out at 0800 their time. But his dreams were haunted by the dead stare of the Widow, who's image scared him into wakefulness every time the dream version of her killed him.  
He woke up at 6:45 beyond exhausted, and when he left his shower at 7:00 to see Kate and Hunter, both looked extremely nervous, but ready. Clint put a leash on Lucky, and brought him with them to the airport, their weapons packed into non-descript storage cases.  
Philip Coulson was waiting on the tarmac for them, in his usual non-descript suit. He was accompanied by four men and one woman, waiting for them by the small black jet that was large enough for the team but small enough to avoid detection once airborne. As they got closer, he recognized everyone there but the woman.  
"Ah Hawkeye, good to see you, Hawkeye, and Tosser." Coulson greeted, using their codenames. Hunter just laughed, the only one who knew the idiocy of his nickname. except he wasn't, surprised that the female with Coulson laughed as well. "You all know director Fury, of course. And Hawkeye (he said, looking at Clint), you know Agents Sam Wilson and James Rhodes. They'll be your pilots for every step of this endeavor. And this is Secretary Pierce, head of the State Department. And this, lady and gentleman, is Dr. Jemma Simmons, who is here to brief you on the technology you will be using for this operation." Coulson said, allowing the young woman to step forward.  
"My name is Jemma Simmons, and I am with the Department of Defense's applied sciences division. Because of the nature of your mission, we are equipping you with the new bomb detector we've developed, which will allow you to search the Hospital, from a distance, for the wireless signals used to detonate explosives. We've also outfitted you all with Geiger counters for any possible nuclear threat the Widow may present. Each of you will also being given a high caliber, lightweight sidearm designed by my partner, which will not hold onto any of your fingerprints, and allow you to ditch them should you become compromised. We also have something for all of you." She said, grabbing little packets from her coat. "These are cyanide tablets. If you are compromised by the Widow, or end up in the hands of Soviet intelligence, you are to ingest these. They fit on any molar of your choosing, and are the last resort. If you are captured, you will have two weeks to hold out for rescue. After that, you must swallow the tablet. Are we clear?" she said.  
The crew, including the two pilots, grumbled in unison, before she handed all five members their tablets and returned to where Coulson, Fury, and Pierce were standing. Sam and Rhodes joined them by the plane.  
"Gentleman. And the lady Hawkeye. It is imperative that this mission is successful. The only way this mission end successfully is the body of the Black Widow being brought before the U.N. Am I understood?" Director Fury barked, and everyone replied with a hearty "yes sir!".  
"Clint, why is your dog here?" asked Coulson, noticing Lucky the Pizza Dog for the first time.  
"He's here for you, old man. I need you to watch him again. It slipped my mind until we were leaving this morning, so here. You still have his food. And if we don't make it home. Well. You know. Love the dog." Clint said, shaking Coulson's hand before motioning his team to board the plane.  
As the side hatch on the small transport plane closed up, Clint, Hunter, and Kate took their seats in the 'cabin', securing their gear onto the equipment racks and buckling into the seats. There were only very small windows on the aircraft, and Clint was the only one who chose to face the choppy seas of the Atlantic Ocean, with Kate and Hunter choosing windowless seats for their journey to Poland.  
By the time they arrived in Warsaw, disguised as a Polish military jet, where they would helicopter into Czechoslovakia, and later to Prague, directly by car, under the cover of night, later that day. The team was pretty tense, but Clint assured them everything would go fine.  
Boy was he fucking wrong.  
By the time they made it into the heart of Prague, they were exhausted and decided to sleep in an abandoned apartment complex south of the Hospital where the Widow would be heading. The rooms were beyond cold, as the nighttime air made it a brisk 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Their sleeping bags would stave away the worst of the cold, but they were looking forward to getting this op done. Not even to be heroes, but to sleep in a bed where ice couldn't form on you if you forgot to close the face cover on the bag.  
Clint could hear Kate softly whimpering, the cold hard ground being brutal on someone who isn't used to it. He and Hunter had been Special Operation Soldiers. Hell, Hunter technically still was. He was just AWOL, if one were to go off the official British Ministry of Defense database. Most usually do.  
By the time the sun was rising, Clint woke up first, making his way down to the streets to order a coffee from a local café. Remembering his limited amounts of Polish, which did, in fact, extend to buying coffee.  
As he waited for his coffee to finish, he thought he noticed the color of hair ingrained into his brain for his current mission. She was the right height. And she was walking the direction of the hospital.  
He was armed, but was alone, and would have to get close to her to land a kill shot with his pocket knife.  
He followed the red head for three blocks to a hotel situated across the street from the Hospital the Black Widow was supposed to target, according to his gut feeling and the CIAs multiple reports on the subject. She made her way up to the let off for the penthouse suites elevator, and that was when Clint made his move.  
Dressed in his best raggedy clothes, he prepared his pocket knife, hoping that he could end their mission before too many variables wound up in play.  
She heard him coming a mile away.  
Natalia hadn't planned on being spotted on her morning walk to get acquainted with the city before her mission, but she figured that such a beautiful and brisk day should be enjoyed before the elimination of an enemy to the Union.  
That's when she noticed the blonde man. He was maybe 6 feet tall, with relatively shaggy hair and a hard face. He wasn't overly muscular, but he was definitely not an average build, from what she gleamed in the mirrors of cars on her way to the hotel. She figured she'd draw the man off her scent by taking her to a hotel she was not staying at (having nicked the access card off a bellhop as she entered) to see what his intentions were. He was carrying a container with three coffees, so he was not alone. He was either incredibly foolish to come and try to kill her on his own, or incredibly horny. The latter seemed to happen just as often.  
She turned around, pretending to have heard a non-existent noise, and they both made small, inaudible gasps. She looked exactly like the one high-resolution photo they had managed to capture of her. And he looked exactly like the hundreds of ones her and her KGB bosses had managed to acquire of him, the infamous Hawkeye.  
He decided to try and play off the coffee, maybe he could get the jump on her. She couldn't possibly know who he is.  
"Well good morning there, beautiful." he started, giving her his best smile and holding a coffee out to her. "I saw you walking and figured you would want one." He completed, offering her the French Vanilla latte that was supposed to be for Kate (she could bite him).  
"Ah, so you speak English." She feigned, adding an unnecessary accent to her English, sure to throw him off. It worked. She was supposed to have a flawless accent, and at that moment, the gorgeous redhead had captivated him enough to not be able to use his common sense. Cause duh. What super spy/assassin wouldn't do that.  
"Oh well, ya know. Caught me. I'm a Canadian, here for a goodwill mission." He lied, and she almost believed him. Almost.  
"Well it was very generous of you to buy me a coffee, and even more to help with the reconstruction of the city after the bombing" her 'Czech' accent makes him very confused. Enough to think he has the wrong woman. After he hands her his coffee, he sheathes his knife in his pocket, still ready to go in case he is wrong.  
"My pleasure. I'm only in town for a few days. Yourself?" he asked, toning down his smile a bit as to appear normal.  
"I'm returning to my home in the country for a few days. I came out to visit a dear old friend, but came early to see the sites, meet some interesting people. The usual." She says, not totally a lie.  
"I'm glad to hear you'll be here for a few days. It's been nice meeting you, Misses." He trails off, hoping to get some confirmation.  
"Miss. Romanov. Natasha Romanov." She lies, shaking his hand and taking a sip on the coffee he handed her after the anti-poison tablet she deposited into the drink didn't cause it to combust, confusing her greatly. "What is your name?" she asks, wondering what bogus lie he'll tell. Americans were horrible at creating fake names.  
And Clint struggled. But she couldn't possibly think of anything but his own name, so he gave it to her. "Barton. Clint Barton." He said, and the surprise on her face was genuine, as that was the rumored name of the infamous Hawkeye.  
So either he has no plan going on in his head for his kill, or he legitimately did not know who she was. She found this almost refreshing.  
"Look, Natasha, I have to get going, my little sister is here and she'll begin to worry if I'm gone for too long. But, hey. Maybe we can get dinner sometime, after I'm done with my project." He said, curious as to how that would be possible when she'd be, well, dead. But it was the only way he could think to escape from this without blowing his plan.  
"I would be more than delighted." she said, and a small part of her inside wasn't lying. After she killed Vaclav Havel, she would have to take this interesting man up on his offer. So she could kill him as well. After a night of fun, of course.  
Fun. A word she never thought she could use purely for herself.


	2. Like a Fucking Atom Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a surprising turn for both Assassins, as Hawkeye deals with his team and the Black Widow deals with her own demons, both personal and in the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a fair warning, some stuff may or may not be upsetting for some readers. It's implied and honest to fucking god just have some thicker skin and don't whine. That's all. For those of you that are normal, thick-skinned people, I do hope you enjoy.  
> The title for the last chapter is a verse from the Bad Religion song that this work takes it name from off of the masterpiece album "Generator". This title comes from the same album and is another lyric. Hope you spot the references I've made in here. Thank you again, and I really do hope you like it!

Hours later, Clint returned to the abandoned hotel, with a new batch of coffee and an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Kate and Hunter were now just waking. Both looked not at all well rested.  
“So, promise not to yell?” he said directly to Kate, hoping Hunter would understand.  
“What in the literal fuck did you do, Clint?” she glared, sipping on her coffee.  
“Well. So. Okay. I totally spotted the Black Widow today. And I may have had a conversation with her. And given her a coffee meant for you.” Clint said gaining speed until the words were out of his mouth so fast her couldn’t believe.  
Kate screamed. And shouted. And a ton of other loud stuff that would have been disastrous if they weren’t in an abandoned building.  
“The fuck did I do?” Clint asked sheepishly, sipping on his coffee as he watched the face of his young protégé go from angry to furious before deciding to save her wrath for later. If they lived.  
“You’re telling me you had the drop on her and could have fucking killed her! Saved us all a lot of time! What the shit Barton.” Was what Kate shouted at him. Hunter was unusually quiet. But he understood.  
“Let me guess Clint, you were ready to go for the kill, but she caught you. Because you still have that silly, unbalanced pocket knife on you so you needed to be within five feet. SO when she catches you, you lie your ass off. And then you part ways, possibly blowing the op.” Hunter surmises, sipping on his coffee. “That’s what happened, more or less, no?” he asked sardonically, looking to Kate.  
“Look. She still plans to be here.” Clint defended, until he realized what he had just said.  
“And how would you know this Clinton Francis Barton?” Kate said, icily.  
“Because I invited her to dinner. The night after we’re supposed to have killed her.”  
“I could kill you Hawkeye, I really could.” Kate glares, trying to keep her temper under control. It wasn’t working.  
They sat there in silence, but on the other side of town, trouble was brewing. Its name was Natalia Alianova.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The Black Widow had scouted out her target, preparing the suicide bomber that was a mole in the Czech Resistance for their one-way mission. She was only there to make sure nothing went wrong. And that a very clear message was sent.  
But she couldn’t remember why she was doing this. Deep down, something was stirring in her, and it was a feeling she had never noticed before. Maybe never even had before.  
Freedom.  
She had seen it in the man named Clint Barton’s eyes. The ability to just go and get coffee. There had been an ulterior motive with her, sure. But she had seen the names on the travel cups.  
Kate and Hunter.  
The infamous Hawkeye was not alone in Prague, and she would have to tread carefully.  
But there was that feeling again. She was all alone, and usually that’s how she had preferred to work. But she saw something in the archer’s eyes that made her confused. He looked satisfied, almost happy. She did not know what that felt like.  
She was thousands of miles from the Kremlin, from her handlers, and she decided to do something bold. Something new. She had 3 more days until her mark had to die, and Natalia made a decision. For herself.  
“I want to read a book.” She mumbled, and entered the run down book store.  
All there was in the desolate shop were state-approved materials, but she knew how the world worked. Contraband could always be obtained, for a price. She decided on a document that she knew had been banned in the Soviet Union for ages.  
Animal Farm. Orwell. The words she had heard when they burned the books before them. Told them of the evil they brought. The mockery they made of the Motherland. Maybe they were wrong.  
An hour later, the red-haired Soviet assassin emerged victorious. Banned book in hand, she made her way back to her hotel, ready to see what America really thought of Communism.  
But unbeknownst to the Widow, half a mile away, a handler carefully watched her, and was ready to make the call. The Widow may be compromised.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Kate had pretty much finished her angry rant by the time Clint had decided to turn his hearing aids back on. She hadn’t noticed he couldn’t hear her for the whole hour or so she ranted on him about how reckless he was being with all of their lives, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her again. The Widow. Natasha.  
When the low hum he had heard before his hearing aids fully powered up, he was not ready for the extremely loud volume that his protégé was capable of creating. The silicon hearing aides were state of the art, with what the government called ‘digital transistor capability on a silicon pathway’. Didn’t mean jack shit to him, but they worked extremely well compared to the other option.  
“God dammit Clint. You just can’t interact with the mark. You fucking taught me that. Hawkeye, see’s better from a distance. Ring any bells in your head?” she said, a face of exasperation and exhaustion finally taking hold. She was worn out, and he’d never had to say a word.  
“Look Katie-Kate. She was just. Different. It’s not like I have a crush on her; she could literally kill me with her pinky if she felt like it. So we’re going to follow the plan, and when the time comes, you can count on me to make the hit. Alright, Hawkeye?” He finished, sipping his now cold coffee.  
“Yeah, Hawkeye. Alright. But if you don’t take the shot when the time comes, I will. Don’t forget that, Clint.” Kate said, turning away to face the streets of Prague. Even in the run down portion of the city they currently were in, Kate couldn’t help but marvel at the beautiful silhouette against the mid-day March sun.  
Hunter sat there, with his cassette player by his bag, a pair of oversized and relatively ineffective headphones on his head.  
“Whatcha listening to, Hunter?” Clint asked, taking a seat on the cold floor next to his British friend.  
“It’s this California band. Bunch of young guys from Berkeley. Just came out a few days ago. Hottest thing in Ska right now.” He said plainly, grabbing three other tapes out of his ruck sack and another beer. The other tapes were Bad Religions "Suffer", The Clash’s "London Calling", and The Descendents "Milo Goes to College".  
Clint nodded in approval. He’d heard of the other albums, and heard them played by Hinter enough in their apartment. He knew Bad Religion had another album coming out later that year, but that was all he knew of the punk scene. He didn’t really have time to keep up with music. That’s what he had Hunter and Kate for.  
Clint clasped Hunter on the shoulder and got up, making his way over to Kate, who still as standing, staring out the window.  
“She’s out there Clint, and if we don’t stop her, a lot of good and innocent people will die. We need to focus.” She said, much quieter, her voice caught in her throat.  
“You’re right Kate. Believe me, I know. But you didn’t see what I saw. It’s like there’s a human trapped inside of the murderer. It’s almost as if she’s not in complete control of herself. I’ve never seen anyone look so lifeless in such vibrant eyes.” Clint mused, putting his hand on Kate's shoulder, and she hugged her mentor.  
There they were, in a foreign land, having met an interesting person. And they were getting ready to kill them. It was almost just like any other mission they did for the CIA. But this was the only one where either of them doubted they’d be going home to Pizza Dog and "Dog Cops".  
Kate tilted her head up to look at Clint, who was staring out to the horizon, and she nestled herself into him as a little sister who is scared of the inevitable unknown is. Clint simply hugged her tightly and wondered where the beautiful Russian assassin was at that moment.  
The day turned to night for both pairs of assassins as the early Spring sun descended over the beautiful city of Prague. Clint was still standing at the window, wondering about the beautiful and deadly redhead and where she was now.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Natasha was in her bathtub, most of the way through the English edition of Orwell’s "Animal Farm", completely captivated by the story, unable to pull herself away, even though she knew deep down this went against everything they had programmed into her. Instilled. Trained. She is no machine. Or is that exactly what she is?  
Natasha can’t help but think these things. She thinks back on all of her missions since she was a young girl, and every single time she could not remember making the conscious choice to kill.  
She remembered the mission. She remembered the mark. She remembered how she killed them. But she doesn’t remember how she felt killing so many people.  
Businessmen. Government officials. Agents. Children. Drug Cartel Heads, Wives. Anyone who was in the way. Anything they told her to do, she did. But did she ever choose to twist the necks of the two children of the Government official who had the nerve to challenge the KGB. But she never remembers if those were her orders or if that was just what they taught her to do. Made her to be. A monster.  
She closed the book and took deep breaths, a feeling of panic setting into her for the first time in her short 22 years of life. She began feeling regret. Remorse.  
Emotions flooded over her, and she felt the need to vomit.  
So there sat Natalia Alianova, going into having a day to prepare for her assassination. Puking. And unsure of how she could kill someone who was doing the right thing.  
Right thing. Where did that come from? She thought to herself, and began to fight the walls closing in on her, jumping from the bathtub and into a towel, in an effort to avoid any of the negative effects that passing out in water could have. She barely made it to the bed before she passed out from anxiety and panic, two all-consuming emotions she had never experienced. And like these, for what seemed like the first time, she felt a yearning for freedom.  
The new day dawned on Prague, and it was two days out from the fun.  
Natalia had awakened in a cold sweat, her bed tossed for the first time in her life. She hadn’t locked herself to the bed post, as she had done every night she slept alone since age six. The sickness of what she did and who she was still existed, and she had doubts about her mission. But she knew the price of failure and knew she had no choice in the matter.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Clint awoke, sore, but rested. He knew today was a day of prep.  
The team had to establish contact with their pilots to verify the evacuation plan. They had to prepare Hunters post in the clock tower across the street, with a wide open view of the plaza where the widow was supposed to walk to make her hit on the mark. Kate would be scouting for table locations to be close enough to observe but far away enough to be safe in case she was made (she still was arguing to be armed, despite the mission plan, but Clint had conceded, as he didn’t want her totally unarmed and on her own out there). They needed to have an evacuation vehicle prepared for their escape. And Clint still needed to find perching points to counteract the brisk wind that had been blowing since they arrived.  
The day in question was supposed to be overcast, but as long as there was no rain while they performed the hit, they should be fine.  
But Clint wasn’t fine with any of this. Something felt off about the Worlds Second Greatest Assassin (as he referred to her, as he was after all, The Hawkeye, and no Kate, I am The Hawkeye) he thought to himself. He needed to see her again, and so he made his way out again before Hunter and Kate had risen, leaving a note on Kates bad, over her face.  
He went and grabbed two coffees that morning, and made his way to the hotel where he and Miss Romanov had their first encounter.  
He made his way up to the same penthouse area they had met the last time, not sure if this was where she was actually staying or if she had been trying to throw him off her track. He spent a good thirty minutes unsure of if he should knock or not, but decided to go for it.  
The 45-year-old man and his housewife in bondage clothing was not what he had been expecting.  
Clint gave them the coffees and ran away as fast as humanly possible, apologizing and swearing, making his way outside. Unaware of the view that the Widow had of him from her room, the next hotel over. Or of the one her handler had, twenty feet away at a coffee table.  
As Clint made a mental note that old people were weird and that he would not be like that in 21 years, he grabbed another coffee, unaware of the smile Natalia had on her face several stories above him. All she knew was that he had come back to look for her, even though he had to know who she was and had to know what it could have meant for his life. He did it anyway. That made her smile. One that was not on her face for seduction or for a mission. A genuine smile.  
She began to dress herself in non-descript clothing, a pair of black pants, leather boots, and a red shirt under her black leather jacket. Her hair was straightened, as was customary. But she chose to walk out of her door with a small smile, making her way down to street level where the archer sat on his own, a coffee in hand and still shuddering to himself.  
She made her way over to him and was right up on him before he could ever have moved his head up. His whole body tensed, and he moved to use his coffee as a diversion, preparing to throw it at her to escape, but she had already put her hand onto his arm, preventing him from acting in panic.  
“Why Mr. Barton, if I wished you dead, you would never have known I was coming. You will not die, Hawkeye. Not today, and not by my hand.” She said, Russian in her English.  
“I see you did your homework, Miss Romanov. Or perhaps Miss Alianova would suit you better? The Black Widow is a hard woman to find.” He quipped back, a small smile on his face.  
“I think I liked it better when I went by Natasha Romanov with you.” She said, avoiding eye contact, feeling for the first time very small while making conversation with someone who was not her superior.  
“I think we both know why we’re here.” Clint said, taking a timed and controlled sip on his coffee.  
“O да. I am here to kill Vaclav Havel, and you are here to stop me.” She mused, curling her hair up onto her index finger slyly, as Clint became a little entranced. He snapped out of it.  
“A little more than that, I’m afraid” he said, and her eyes narrowed before making a small ‘O’ with her mouth.  
“So tomorrow one of us will be leaving this city, dead. As if I fail, they will terminate me. If I move to complete my mission, you will terminate me. If I succeed in my mission, you will terminate me. And if I succeed and get the drop on you, I will terminate you. So it seems one of us is not going to like the way this ends, Mr. Barton.” She mused, a darkness in her eyes that has never been present. It was an anger. It was fear.  
“You know, Natasha. There is always another option. No one but you and me may like it, but there is another option.” He said, taking another sip of his coffee.  
Now was another first for the Russian Assassin: a legitimate eyebrow raise.  
“And how would there be a happy ending in all of this death for us two assassins.” She mused, meeting his eyes.  
“You come with us. To America.” Clint paused, taking a deep breath before resuming, “My boss, he believes in second chances. And doing better by yourself and those around you. And his boss, well. He believes that everyone had a purpose, and sometimes you realize that on a second chance. Natasha. Come to America and join the CIA. You can do good. You can help people.” Clint said, not realizing where in the hell that idea had come from.  
Natasha was just as surprised. She had never thought such an offer would ever be made to her, let alone one where she could walk away a new person. Be able to do good. Although, until yesterday, she had not really known good from bad. And she was on the bad side, that much she had realized. Could he really deliver on his promise, or was this a trap?  
“And how do I know that this is no American trick?” she said, defensive, feeling the weight of the knife in her jacket for the first time since she got dressed.  
“Simple.” He said, pulling out his pocket knife and flicking it open suddenly. She jumped back, reaching for his before he let it clatter on the table. “This was my fathers. He was a mean, tough, piece of shit. But it’s all I have of him and my mother. It was also my only weapon on me. I give this to you.” Clint said, sliding the pocket knife to the red head, following up his dramatic reveal with a swig on his coffee. “It’s a promise. And an insurance policy. You now have me, unarmed, and surrendered to you. If you want to come, then go upstairs and pack your bags. I’ll wait for you down here. If you won’t be joining me, that’s okay Natasha. But this is the only truce I’ll be making. You stay up there, and I’ll be getting my knife back the hard way, even if it takes the rest of my life. That’s my promise to you.” He said, and she picked it up.  
There was nothing special about the old knife, except that there were obvious signs of wear and tear, with the letters B.B. and C.B. etched onto the side of it. This knife was obviously important to him. And he was willing to make the first step.  
“I accept, Mr. Barton. I will go and pack my bags. And no, Mr. Havel is safe. I have yet to plant my explosive. I will be down shortly.” She said, folding the knife into her pocket and moving very quickly to get upstairs.  
He grabbed her arm before she ran upstairs. “Natasha, call me Clint.”  
And with a nod and a small smile, she made her way upstairs.  
Had either of them truly been paying attention, they would have noticed the middle-aged man in a suit get up to follow her.  
And had Natasha Romanov, which she began to decide she liked better than Natalia Alianova, been in her usual, guarded state, she would have been able to handle him long before he got close enough to make eye contact with her.  
“Ah Natalia, what a pleasure to see you.” He smiled, and it was the most unnatural, twisted work of nature she had ever seen. Until she remembered he had always been there, every step of the way. Because the KGB had outside backers who were deeply invested in her actions.  
“No. No, you cannot stop me Bakshi. I will be leaving now, to America. To start a new life.” She said, reaching for the throwing knife in her jacket, almost getting into a throwing motion before he opened his mouth again. So fucking close.  
“Ah but Natalia, you would much rather comply.” He said, amused, and her hardwiring began to spring to life. She had to fight to move her arm to throw the knife, and she felt her losing the part of her that had been awakened by her first meeting with Clint Barton.  
“No Bakshi, I am leaving” she grumbled through her clenched teeth, fighting him with every muscle in her body and every thought that was her own in her mind. She didn’t win.  
“You will comply. And your compliance shall be rewarded, Natalia. You may even be allowed to live, if you kill him. And everyone in that Hospital. It’s time to make sure your loyalty is unwavering. Ditch your original plan. We would like it if you made the bomb to look like the work of the revolutionaries. And we would like it to destroy the children’s wing of the Hospital. We also wish for you to put a bullet in-between the eyes of Mr. Havel. Is this understood, my Spider.” He said, not asking. Merely just letting her brain prepare for compliance.  
“I shall comply.” Came the brisk, heavily Russian response. She still looked like she was trying to resist, but she sheathed her knife and made her way to begin her work.  
As opened her door, Bakshi stopped her.  
“You will also be tasked with killing the bowman awaiting you. You can do it whenever. And I expect that my personal wants shall be satisfied, as well.” He sneered. And every part of her awakened mind screamed for her to snap out of it. But for now, it was too strong and drowned out the small bit of her that had become Natasha Romanov. She was firmly Natalia Alianova, for the moment.  
And for her handler, she was forced to make a bright, big smile. “Anything, Mr. Bakshi. I am happy to comply.” She said, and she made her way back into her room, preparing to kill more than she had ever done in one move before. She was beginning to make a very large bomb.  
And Clint watched the door, waiting for her to exit, letting the man who had thrown a wrench in the works walk right past him.  
And after four hours had passed, he had his answer.  
The Black Widow must die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! Also, HUGE congrats to anyone who might know what ska album I'm talking about. Mention it in the comments and I'll give you a huge shout out for being super awesome.


	3. Stitched up a Horrible Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more in depth and emotional chapter. It introduces another member to the team and delves into how Kate and Natasha are feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapters title came from the song "Generator" off of the Generator album, where all of these titles are pulled from. This one is a bit more obscure, but a great song. And I hope this is a great chapter. Enjoy!

Kate sat on top of a roof, holding Clint’s note in her hand, tears in her eyes and frozen cold.  
That dummy was going to get himself killed if he kept this up. He falls for dangerous woman and it always ends in disaster. And she just isn't all that dangerous.  
And now he has fallen for the Black Widow. He had to be futzing kidding her. The world’s deadliest assassin (and yes, she had him beat, as Clint can’t flirt or seduce to save his life) knows his name. Knows his identity, and she specializes in, well, killing people.  
So here Kate was, alone and cold. With no coffee, no Clint, and she wasn’t going to leave without him. He was due back a few hours ago, but she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was Clint, and she believes in that dummy. He can’t die. He just can’t.  
Cause she knows something about loving someone who doesn’t love you back. At least, not in the same way. Clint thought of her as his protégé, and as much as she tried, she wanted to just think of him as a mentor. But she can’t do this game of hiding how she feels. So she harbors thoughts of leaving and striking out on her own to avoid the crushing heart break of seeing Clint with anybody else. He completes her. She just doesn’t complete him.  
And now with the Black Widow in the picture, how could she possibly ever match up to her. She was bred to be every man’s fantasy. She could do literally everything there is. And Kate was just a smart ass teenager from New York who played at being a super hero. But Natalia Alianova was the real deal. Just, not a good guy unless Clint had his way. And that meeting would end one of two ways:  
1) The Black Widow joins the CIA, and spends a lot of one on one time with Clint.  
2) Or, she kills him, and his stupid ass is dead.  
Kate just couldn’t win this one. So she did what she had been doing for years: crying in secret and repressing like hell. And the scene of the city before her of the early morning sun rising over the ancient city would have been absolutely gorgeous if she could just get past the fact that, somewhere out there, Clint may be dead on a street somewhere in this city, and she had no idea of where.  
She sat there for what seemed like an eternity before she felt that there was another presence up there. It was the small shifting of gravel on the dilapidated building that told her, but she’d never let anyone know that. Not as fun.  
“I don’t know what you want, but I’m really not in the mood.” She growled, trying to force her eyes to stop crying, hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with this person face to face so they couldn’t see how red and splotchy her eyes were.  
The person walked toward her, but it wasn’t in a threating way, and when they finally arrived, she realized that the strong and calloused hands could only belong to one person.  
“Hey there Hawkeye. I brought you a coffee. French vanilla flavor packet, because that would be a luxury-” He almost finished before being engulfed in a hug by the much smaller archer.  
“You fucking idiot.” She said, not as angry as she was relieved, realizing after thirty seconds that she was still crying and that she had a death grip on Clint. “I thought you were going to die.” She mumbled, and Clint put down their drinks and returned her hug.  
“Easy there Katie-Kate. I’m not going anywhere, so you’ll have to get rid of me yourself.” He smiled, taking a sip of his coffee and inviting her to have some as well.  
“What happened with the Widow? You were gone so long. I heard you leave the note and have been waiting for you ever since, just fearing the worst.” She said, trembling.  
He put his arm around her shoulder in an effort to calm her down.  
“It’s okay Kate. She, well I thought she was going to accept on account of her saying yes. But she never came back down. And I told her that meant next time I saw her, she was going to die. And she didn’t return with my peace offering. So that means she has to die.”  
“You mean it? We’re going to go through with the mission Clint?” she said, trying to not let her feelings betray her. Because that made her so much happier than it should have.  
“Yeah. I want my pocket knife back” were his last, morose words on the subject before he sipped his coffee in silence, still holding Kate as they watched the sun begin to move further into the center of the sky.  
The trio had so far neglected to do any of their jobs, but all Clint felt like doing was sleeping off the crushing disappointment of what happened with Natasha.  
No. Natalia. She had decided on that for herself.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Hunter was waking up when he had heard Clint make his way up the stairs, probably to where Kate had perched herself a few hours before. It didn’t matter to him, as they could handle their own stunted emotional capacities their own way. Hunter was done waiting for them to either screw, get together, or just stop being around each other.  
After this trip to Prague, which, while easy on his end so far, was taking a toll on how much he wanted to be around the hawkdiots, maybe he should just return to his native England and resume his SAS duties. Either way, he needed some fresh air and some fresh beer.  
He made his way down the street, and saw the two archers huddled together on the roof, hanging their feet off of the building from a distance. He knew they needed their time. And he needed to just be in public for a while.  
Eventually, he made his way to a small family market, where he saw a sign advertising beer. Locally brewed. Sounded interesting. And the blonde at the counter was more than enough for him to enter.  
She greeted him in the native tongue, but Hunter just smiled and nodded to her, not wanting to raise the obvious question of what a Brit is doing in the Eastern Bloc.  
He browses the beer selection, choosing the house brew before making his way to the pastries rack, where he snags some fresh bagels before making his way to the counter.  
She smiled at him for a moment before noticing the scar on the right side of his neck. It was small, but she still noticed it. Hunter was busy just noticing her eyes.  
“Ah Captain Hunter, I didn’t know the CIA allowed its contractors to buy booze while they were on mission.” She said, a mischievous grin on her face as he literally fell on his ass in surprise.  
“Well. The fuck. What?” were the only words that came from his mouth, and she just smiled.  
“The names Agent Morse. I’m with the CIA. Basically, I’m here to make sure you guys are on mission, which you are not. Or at least, you aren’t. Barton and Bishop are so much harder to establish visual contact with.” She mused, punching in the costs for his items. “That’ll be $3, Captain.” She smiled, and he got up, before realizing that wasn’t the local currency.  
“Sure your boss will accept this, seeing as how it’s contraband this side of the Wall?” he said regaining his composure, ready with more smart ass remarks.  
“I’m sure Director Fury wouldn’t mind some pocket change. And I’ll owe Coulson some cash too. I didn’t think you’d actually go out for a case of beers while on a highly important mission.” She said, and he just chuckled.  
“Ah yes highly important. Because we’ve totally done any mission prep since we arrived in this city. I haven’t spent my days listening to Punk tapes while Kate has been sulking and Clint’s been flirting with the Widow and trying to get her to defect.” Hunter laughed, before remembering the annoyingly small detail that this beautiful and snarky cashier was indeed a CIA agent.  
“Clint’s been doing what?!?!” she said, on the verge of screaming.  
“Shouldn’t have said that. Should not have said that.” Hunter mumbled before opening himself a beer from the pack he just purchased and offered the blonde a brew.  
She took it and drank the entire bottle before bracing her hands on the counter.  
“Clint Barton has had multiple opportunities to kill the Black Widow and he hasn’t taken them? This isn’t one of those mission plans he can deviate from. Years of planning have gone into this op. Years of my life. And he’s going to throw all that hard work away. Hell, he’s going to lose his life over this woman.” She grumbled, and Hunter laughed.  
“Not bloody fucking lightly, sweetheart. Clint’s been to see her twice, and so far he’s only returned with a stupid grin on his face.” Hunter said, taking another sip of his beer.  
“Have you spoken to him today, Hunter?” she asked.  
“Not yet. But I’m sure him and Kate would just appreciate the overwatch of a CIA agent that they had no idea was here.” He said with sarcasm. She ignored it.  
“I’m going back there with you to slap some sense into that dumbass.” She grumbled, grabbing her coat and flipping the open sign to closed.  
Hunter shrugged, grabbing the rest of his items and walking out the door, with Agent Barbara Morse hot on his tracks.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The duo made their way to the top of the abandoned apartment building, where Clint and Kate had stood up to practice shooting arrows at objects they had set up in the distance, honing their skills like they did back in Bed-Stuy. Clint was making shots that most skilled snipers could not make with ease, using only his bow and arrow to hit cups of coffee and empty soda cans with his naked eye.  
Kate was holding her own with him, the two working in tandem. After both finished their repetition, they high-fived (a bit awkwardly from Kate’s end) and finally noticed their British roommate had brought a blonde with him.  
“Ah Clint, how I wish I could lie and say it’s a pleasure to see you again.” She said, her face neutral but her tone more sarcastic than serious.  
“Ah Bobbi Morse.” Clint said. He shifted the tone of his voice to imitate a sportscaster when he said “And here we go, the greatest party crasher in Langley History. She’s mean, she’s... well that’s all she is.” Clint said, a smile on his face as he embraced the CIA agent.  
“I haven’t seen your dumbass since we trained together. It’s been too long Clint.” She said, a smile on her face as she backed away, smiling at Kate, who looked like she wanted to kill her, for some reason. She elected to ignore it. “You need to kill the Black Widow Clint. She cannot be allowed to live.” She began before Clint hushed her by pressing the broad head of an arrow to her lips.  
“The bitch has my pocket knife. I’m going to get it back, whether she’s still breathing or not.” He said, all traces of joking and lightheartedness having vanished from his face in less than a second.  
And there was the Clint that Bobbi had seen a few years ago when they both first joined the CIA. At least, the one who broke every single record that existed before the great Hawkeye. Now he was a CIA legend, and one of its most talented assassins.  
Bobbi wasn’t a huge fan of murder, but she, like everyone else, had to admire his skill with the bow.  
She nodded before making her way to sit on the edge of the building, Hunter and the two archers in tail as they all sat down and looked onto the city, the sun nearing the middle of the sky.  
Hunter sat to Bobbi’s left, while Clint took her right side, flanked by Kate on his right. Hunter passed them all a beer, and everyone ignored that Kate was only 19. Because she was bad ass, in a foreign country. Meeting interesting people and preparing to kill the most feared assassin of all futzing time. So she could have a damn beer.  
The brisk cold of the day soon became night, as they had successfully managed to waste yet another whole day of preparation, but were in a better place as a team before they began their real prep the next day, and that was worth something, at least to them.  
Bobbi offered them the use of her flat above the store, as she couldn’t condone them freezing their asses off when her much warmer flat was just down the street and was even more secure.  
So the four walked off, all their gear in tow as night began to fall over the city, ready for whatever the Black Widow could throw at them.  
God was Clint going to have to lie on the mission report. A lot.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The war for herself had begun the second Bakshi left her alone in that hotel room, explosives having been dropped off. Pounds of it. Enough to send the entire hospital sky high. And while Natasha wanted no part of it, instead wanting the future she knew escaping with Clint could give her, she had to fight another part of herself. Natalia, who was stronger, older, and knew all of her weakness, because she was her greatest weakness.  
She was the part of her that was susceptible to being controlled. The part that was able to commit horrendous acts without questioning them, such as the mass slaughter of children she was preparing for. And even as the Natasha who had been born from meeting Clint Barton and from reading a book that challenged what she had been taught, Natalia had too much control. And until Bakshi’s control wore off in several hours, all she could do was watch herself prepare several explosives, rigged with a wind and crank watch. No way could they be remotely disarmed. Once those clocks started, there was no turning back.  
By the time they were all completed, she stashed them in a small handbag and made her way to the Hospital.  
She reached the hospital, and worked her way through. Before she had even been in for a half hour, she was dressed in a nurse’s scrubs and planting the bombs under the Children’s wing foundations, setting them in line with the gas mains for maximum carnage. She wasn’t sure how she could watch herself do this, but she did. She did it, and nothing could stop her. She was a force of nature.  
And no matter how bad she wished that Hawkeye would show up to stop her from committing this atrocity. To just fucking kill her and save all these innocent lives she was being forced to kill, there was no answer to her hidden pleas. She just wanted to die, and this time, there was no dashing assassin to take her out.  
Natasha didn’t want to die. Not really. But for the sake of everyone else. If one of Clint’s arrows could find its way to her in this moment, and end the horrors the Black Widow, the part of her controlled firmly by mind control and indoctrination. The part of her that was Natalia Alianova. And if Hawkeye could manage to kill her, the super assassin who was dangerous to everyone around her and everything that she touched, then he might just save the part of her that he had helped to create. The art of her that wanted to do good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Thank you for reading!


	4. No One Can Live with the Decisions of Their Own...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck y'all. Shit goes down in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapters came from "Chimera" off of the "Generator" album, like all in this story do, by Bad Religion. This one is an obvious allusion to regret. You'll see why.

When noon came around, Natasha finally felt in control again, but her memory was still hazy, as it always was after... fuck... the mind control. She grabbed the pocket knife by her bed, and felt a pang of curiosity before wondering how long she had been asleep. Because the sun was near the middle of the sky, and Clint had said he’d leave after an hour, of which three must have passed.  
Natasha ran her way downstairs, bag in hand with the pocket knife securely in her inner jacket pocket. As was a handgun, a passport, and money. She made it to the little café where her and Clint had been at and began her frantic search for the American assassin. She had no luck.  
She sat down, feeling an overwhelming disappointment in herself. She almost didn’t notice the serving boy who came up to her, no coffee in hand, but instead a folded piece of paper.  
“A blonde man gave this to me a few days ago for you. Said to hand it to you the next time you came down.” He said, sighing in relief as he walked away.  
Wait. A few days???  
Natasha opened the piece of paper to find a solitary sentence on it:  
“Watch your back Natalia, because I’m getting my fucking knife back.”  
And then it came back to her. The events of the last few days had hit her, and she realized that Bakshi had again taken control away from her. And the bombs. Oh fucking fuck. She needed to get to the hospital. The bombs wouldn’t go off until five that night, as that was when the revolutionary and his supporters would be there. She had more than enough time.  
And so she set out on foot for the hospital which was nearby, sighing in relief when she got to the plazanear the front of the building. She remembered where she had planted them, so all she had to do, in theory, was retrieve them in the bag she had stolen from a vendor a few blocks down. Disarming would take a little while, but she had more than enough time.  
Or so she thought. Because there was something that sent a chill down her spine, as if she was being watched. And that did not bode we….  
She was stopped mid-thought by the subtle ‘thunk’ of an arrow mere centimeters from her head and suddenly she was hyper aware that the alley she was in was abandoned, and that there was a literal natural choke point where she stood. A plaza opened at one end of the alleyway, and outside of a café, she noticed a young woman extremely tense with one hand sitting in her purse, not moving it. Behind her was the clock tower of an old government building. And it was towards the café, as she had her body turned to the clock tower that she heard a ‘thunk’ onto the ground that sounded eerily like a man.  
“Natalia if you move, I will shoot. And if I miss, ‘cause there is a first time for everything, my SAS compatriot will indeed put a bullet between your eyes. And should he, by a stroke of some vengeful god, miss, my protégé will end you. So put your hands on your head Natalia, because I feel like the United States could get a lot more out of you alive than dead.” He said, raising his bow level with her heart before she slowly dropped all of her bags, moving onto her knees, placing her hands palm forward and began trying to speak. But the words were caught in her throat, as she realized one misstep would end her life and many of innocent ones as well.  
As Clint made his way toward her, she heard handcuffs clasp onto her wrists from behind, and her face was forcefully thrown into the pavement, enough to leave a mark. That was when she felt shackles going onto her ankles, and then a collar being placed around her neck, connecting her shackles and handcuffs together, making it extremely difficult to move. And they were barbed, so any attempt she could have made to escape were invalidated. Natalia could have escaped, but Natasha only wanted to warn them. And she tried again, but this time felt a solid kick into her ribcage that sent her reeling on the ground, driving the barbs into her wrist as a blonde woman materialized in front of her view, standing next to Clint with a gun leveled at her head.  
“Agent Barton, I believe you just captured the nefarious Black Widow alive. And before she could execute an assassination. I believe that’ll come with a hefty promotion, my friend.” The blonde woman said sarcastically.  
“Yeah Bobbi, like fucking Fury won’t have my god damned head on a platter for being weak. They wanted Natalia dead. Get her bags, and find her guns. And I remember something about her having explosives in previous assassinations as a backup. Make sure they are disarmed Morse.” Clint said, returning his arrow to its quiver before making his way to the one he shot into the brick wall, snapping it in half and throwing it down a storm drain. He pulled out a radio. “Tosser, Hawkeye, package is secure. Tosser, move to ready the getaway car. Hawkeye, come assist me and Mockingbird with the subject. Never. Ever. Ever. Aim your gun anywhere but her body. Fuck the headshot. Go center of mass. Hawkeye out.”  
Natasha had so many different thought on her mind: Two Hawkeyes? Another CIA agent? A British teammate willingly being called an idiot? Shit. The bombs.  
“Clint.” She said, as forcefully as she could, trying to get her wits about her and some air into her lungs for the conversation she was about to have to have.  
He turned, and for the first time she saw some pain on the angered archers face.  
“Natasha was allowed to call me Kate. But she never really existed, did she?” he said, picking her up in one fail swoop to her feet. She could breathe better now, but she felt another set of eyes trained on her as a third person had entered the alley.  
“Is this really the big bad Black Widow, Hawkeye? She seems shorter than her profile described.” Came another female voice. Another?  
“Yeah well she’s still deadly as hell, Hawkeye.” Came Clint’s wary response as he finally made eye contact with her. Then he saw it. There was no glaze over in her eyes like the first time they met. And a look of realization dawned on his face.  
“Natasha?” he whispered, and she tried to say yes, but merely nodded, realizing how constricting the neck collar was before he motioned for the two woman with him to hold their positions and secure their alley.  
“Can’t…breathe.” She muttered, and he removed the neck collar, silencing the female Hawkeye and Agent Morse, who seemed to answer to Mockingbird.  
“Here you go. What happened?” he asked, deep sincerity in his quiet voice.  
She coughed twice before answering.  
“Clint. Knife in jacket.” She muttered, a small smile on her face. Then she remembered. “Clint. Bombs. Hospital. Children's Wing. On timers.” She said, and his face went beyond white.  
“Fuck.” He muttered. And that was when the sounds of sirens went by, several police cars and military trucks, full of Czechoslovakian police and military made their way towards the Hospital.  
Clint signaled Bobbi and Kate over to help him remove her constraints, to which both women looked at him suspiciously.  
“There’s a fucking bomb. At the hospital. Under the children’s wing. We need to get there now.” He barked, and they both moved over, but only Bobbi to help. Kate raised her gun to Natasha’s head, and the audible click of the safety drew Clint’s attention to his protégé.  
“Move aside Clint. We can handle the bomb without her. She made to murder innocent, helpless children. And we’re going to fucking free her? No. Like you said. The Black Widow must die. And as she pulled the trigger, Clint moved, and the mere 10 feet of distance was enough for the ringing 9mm bullet to catch him in the stomach, and he doubled over as Kate shrieked in horror and dropped her gun, Natasha picking him up and placing him in her now freed arms, her feet still half shackled as Bobbi stared on in disbelief at Kate. Who had shot the man Hunter had told her she was helplessly in love with. Kate Bishop had shot Clint fucking Barton  
And as if absolutely nothing could have made matters any worse, tears in the eyes of every member there except for Hunter, who was making his way over with the van, heard a deafening explosion a mere two blocks away.  
They were too late.  
Something had changed the detonation time on the manual explosives. And the sirens wailed as Clint laid there in Natasha’s arms, coughing up blood.  
The world was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. A futzing cliff hanger. Have fun with that.


	5. Heaven is Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Chapter in this story. Hope you all just loved the cliff hanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapters title came from the song "No Direction" by Bad Religion off of Generator.  
> Enjoy.

Heaven was falling.  
In the arms of the redhead soviet was the man who had changed the entirety of her life, having been shot in the gut by his beloved protégé.  
His teammate stood in shock, having dropped to her knees.  
And his protégé cried, having dropped the gun. She stood motionless, afraid to come forward to his still body.  
And as they all cried, suddenly Natasha felt his body shudder. And she knew he was near the end.  
Except then there was a fucking laugh. A chuckle, and it came from him. In her lap.  
“Bulletproof……. vest.” He mumbled, and she couldn’t believe it as tears adorned her face. Real ones, not ones she had faked. For the first time in her life.  
And then came Kate, who ran over and pushed Natasha away, silent whispering to him how sorry she was. And he just muttered that it was okay.  
She fucking shot him, and it was okay. Because Clint Barton had a tremendously fucking huge heart, and she hadn’t shot that. And even if she had. Well. Vest.  
But as team Hawkeye plus Natasha were recovering from the split second realization that Clint wasn’t dead. But the smell of smoke and burning human flesh reminded them that so many now were.  
And Natasha stayed on the floor, convulsing as she sobbed. She had failed. She was too late. The bombs had gone off. Early. And now so many children, who had done nothing wrong. Who were sick and had been full of hope. Were dead.  
The rebels would be blamed, but this would forever be her fault. It would be the KGB’s fault for brainwashing her. But she had murdered countless children, selfless nurses, and hardworking doctors. Gone in the blink of an eye. And all those dead would weigh on her for the rest of her life. And she couldn’t help. So she continued to cry, soon evolving into sobbing.  
These were emotions. And Clint Barton had opened up the flood gates, but the levee had broken. She was underwater in guilt and self-hatred. And she felt like, at that moment, that there was no way in hell that she would ever deserve a second chance. And she should never be given one.  
Kates gun still sat on the ground just a few feet away, and she was so preoccupied with Clint. And so was Bobbi.  
Maybe she could just end it there. End their problems. They’d have failed their mission, but the world would have its murderer. And America would have its grounds to invade the territories firmly held by their enemy, who had murdered a hospital full of children.  
And as she got up to walk to the gun, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She tried to escape, but she was engulfed into what was a hug. And in that moment, she felt truly helpless as Clint Barton held her in his arms on the sidewalk where he had planned to assassinate her, and just a few blocks from where she had just murdered hundreds of sick children, doctors, and nurses.  
More lay dead here than in her entire existence as an assassin.  
And yet here he was, holding her and whispering that she had done nothing wrong. And as he did this, she put her head into the crook of his shoulder, sobbing as he picked her up, his muscular arms supporting her and comforting her.  
And before she knew it, they were all packed into a small Supply van that a very confused British man who had a beer in the cup holder, asking questions like why in the bloody hell was there an explosion. And then why she was even alive. And then the glare Clint gave him shut him the fuck up. And he drove out of the Czechoslovakian capital to the extraction point.  
And they all boarded the helicopter, where Wilson and Rhodes were both surprised to have two extra living passengers. They both knew Bobbi, but when they asked about Natasha, Kate told them she was the mark. And she was still crying, curled up with Clint as the helicopter took off for Warsaw, where they would make their escape before security forces could completely clamp down on the entirety of the Eastern Bloc.  
Because Clint couldn’t let them kill his team. And he couldn’t let them touch Natasha ever again.  
The flight to Warsaw was uneventful, as both Rhodes and Wilson kept them invisible to the Communists radar, and they landed after a brief flight at the Warsaw airfield.  
They pulled their disguised cargo plane from storage, and the entire team loaded up, with their gear. And as they all arranged into the seats, Clint and Natasha sat on the floor as she softly whimpered, having finally run out of tears.  
The rest of the team didn’t look at them, trying to understand what was going through both of their heads.  
Because Clint had just brought the assassin (now mass murderer) they hadn’t been sent to kill with them, alive. And he was comforting her telling her it was okay and it wasn’t her fault and that’d he would kill the one who had done this to her.  
And the flight back to JFK went like that until she finally had passed out. And when she did, Hunter could have sworn he saw her absent mindedly twirling a strand of her blood red hair as he glared at the wall, a look of deep focus on his face. And in his other hand was that stupid pocket knife, which he kept flicking open and close.  
His bow and quiver were on the ground next to him, and Kate decided about halfway across the Atlantic to get up and pack them into his travel case on the weapons rack before sitting next to him, forcing to close the knife, and resting her head on his shoulder as she said sorry. He put his arm around her, and held her close as she too cried herself to sleep before he began to doze off himself.  
Soon, the entire plane was silent as all of them had drifted off to sleep save for the pilots, who decided to wake them all up as they began their final approach on the New York Island. They were all standing and ready to go as the door opened, and one by one they disembarked, with Natasha and Clint being the last two off. When Clint, who came off after the Soviet assassin was not surprised to see every CIA agent on the ground save for Bobbi have a weapon trained on her. And she stood there, accepting her fate.  
He stepped in.  
“Everybody hold your fucking fire.” He said, putting his arms up and for the second time in less than a day, was standing in front of her as a human shield.  
“Agents, lower your weapons. I said lower your god damn mother fucking weapons.” Came the angry reply of Director Nick Fury, who made his way to the front of the agents standing between him and Barton.  
“What in the name of all that is fucking holy have you don Clinton Frances Barton!?” Fury yelled at him, but Clint stood his ground, sending the director of the CIA a steely glare so strong it rivaled the one put off by Fury and his one eye.  
And before Fury could order him to move away from her, Kate stood next to him, crossing her arms defiantly in front of Natasha next to Clint, which he sent her a silent thank you with his eyes. And to the other side of him, Hunter stood next to him, having felt the fuck it reaction as he knew the worst they could do was extradite him.  
And then, to the absolute surprise of everyone there, Agent Barbara Morse joined them. She didn’t know why. But deep down, she trusted Clint Barton’s judgment; and if he said that the Black Widow was redeemable, even after what had happened in Prague, then she would stand with him.  
And Natasha once again felt tears threaten her eyes as she knew doing this could cost them their jobs. Their freedom. All because they trusted Clint. And if Clint trusted her, and if his kind words while she had been sobbing about her opportunity to redeem herself and to be able to do right in this world were even to be true to the smallest degree, then she had something that she had never known before. Having a friend. Maybe multiple friends one day. And most importantly, someone who believed in her and her potential ability to be a good human being.  
And it was with this literal human shield between her and the CIA that Fury ordered his men back, and Clint’s handler, Phil Coulson, was finally able to make his way to the forefront of the fray.  
“Clint. She has to go. She’s a fugitive. She killed hundreds of-” was all Coulson got out, his tone conveying his tremendous worry as Clint told him to shut it with his hands.  
Being full aware of that particular signal, Coulson stopped.  
“I’m taking her home with us. We’re all going to sleep in some god damn real beds for a night Phil. All of us will come in for debrief tomorrow at noon. And Phil,” Clint said, never using his first name, especially not in public, “I made her a promise. Your wonder kid scientists, the ones you never fucking shut up about, are going to remove the brainwashing programming from her brain. Because she doesn’t want to be Natalia Alianova, the brainwashed murderer, anymore. She wants to be Natasha Romanov, which is how she’ll be addressed. By everyone. And she’ll be given amnesty and training. Because she wants to fight the good fight man. So help me help her to help America.” He pleaded. It was the first time he had asked Phil for something this important.  
Since he asked to have Kate accompany him on all of his missions. Three years ago.  
And so Phil nodded, allowing the five to make their way past the entire hit squad on the tarmac, the CIA director and his senior most agent in ease.  
And they made their way inside the terminal, carrying their weapons in cases, no one batting an eye as they all made their way outside and caught two cabs.  
An hour later, they all walked through the door of Clint’s apartment complex, where a certain pizza consuming dog sat with a young girl, maybe a year younger than Kate, and her two friends. One of whom was Jemma Simmons.  
“Mr. Barton! My dad left me and my friends with your dog to watch while you came home. He missed you so much!” She said, oblivious to the tired and somewhat irritated looks on everyone faces. But Clint just smiled, and bent down to Lucky’s level to pet him.  
“Who are you, exactly?” Kate asked, her trademark snark present.  
“Well. My name is Daisy, but everyone just calls me Skye. And this is.” She began before the other two jumped up.  
“This is Leo Fitz-” Simmons introduced, pointing to the young man next to her, her British accent a little uneven and a bit of red in her cheeks.  
“And this is Jemma Simmons, who most of you already met.” Fitz said, a mild Scottish accent announced, also with a hint of blush in his cheeks.  
“He’s engineering-” she said.  
“And she’s biochem.” He finished.  
Skye just snorted a little before she draped her arms over both of them, as she was an inch taller than both of the foreign scientists.  
“These two here are the world’s best scientists, and my dad wanted you guys to meet them. Because they’ll be spending a lot of time with the redhead to help her, because dad said she needs help with her second chance.” Skye said with one of the kindest and most understanding smiles any of them had ever seen before her and her friends made their way out, leaving them with Lucky and three still warm pizza boxes.  
“I like those kids.” Hunter chuckled, picking up the Pizza boxes while they moaned and groaned their sore bodies up the stairs to Clint’s apartment.  
By the time they all sat down and had a pizza and a drink, most had mumbled and made their way to bed except for Natasha, Clint, and Lucky.  
Lucky seemed to really like Natasha, and rolled into her and her dark clothes, leaving hair all over her. And instead of scowling, she smiled. Because an animal so pure of heart and so kind with his smile was giving her undivided attention and love.  
And Clint just sat there with the former Soviet assassin, who said so many words with her eyes.  
But then she said a few with her mouth.  
“Clint, what you’ve done for me. I’ll never be able to repay you. I can’t…” she began, and of course, all he could do was smile.  
“Natasha, all you have to do is try your best. Be the person you want to be. Be happy.” He said.  
There was no “don’t fuck this up’” or “I’m sticking my neck out for you”. He honestly and whole heartedly wanted her to get the opportunities she had been robbed of as a child. And so he simply smiled to her as he walked away to his room, emerging after a minute in a different shirt, carrying a towel and change of clothes for her.  
“These are my clothes because, well. Katie Kate is built a bit differently than you. So here. Have these until we can take you shopping tomorrow before the debrief. Take a shower, and enjoy the bed. Everything’s clean and well, just. I hope you sleep okay. I have to go check up with my tenants before I shower and go to sleep. I already have a pillow and blanket out here for me. So, I’ll see you in the morning.” He said, scratching the back of his head as she made a small smile, taking the clothes from his and making her way to the bathroom. And once she got inside the rather large bathroom, she had a huge grin on her face.  
Because of course Clint Barton would give her his room and his clothes. And of course he didn’t expect anything from her for those acts of kindness. And because he was so damn sweet and he legitimately cared. And he cared enough to invite her into his home. And that there were too very talented doctors excited to help her. And that there were people like Phil Coulson and his daughter Daisy who wanted to help people. And because there were sweet dogs that loved pizza and were as kind and full of heart as their owners. It was for things like this Natasha Romanov would be forever grateful of.  
And so when she finally went to sleep, she did hear the explosions. And she could still smell the burning flesh, no matter how hard she tried to tune it out. But then she realized she would have to accept who she had been in order to become someone better.  
And from that night on, she never forgot who she had been and what she had done. Instead, she worked her fucking damnedest to do better every day.  
And as it turned out, that every day would end up being with Clint, Kate, Hunter, Bobbi, Skye, Jemma Simmons, and Leo Fitz.  
And every day she spent with Clint Barton, she did become happier. Because he was always there for her. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the Epilogue I've decided to post and write cause yeah.  
> And I think I'm going to use this AU for a police-esque storyline with all of these characters and just a few more. So let me know what you think! I really hoped you enjoyed my first ever fanfic written to completion cause well. This is honestly the only one I've liked that I've ever written.  
> And the song title for this chapter is from "Heaven is Falling."


	6. Epilogue: Here comes Your Judgement Day

A whole six months had passed since that first night in the Apartment after Clint had left Natasha to her own thoughts and volition.  
And today he finally came home to her and Kate, who had been alone for the past week as he went on a top secret mission that he neglected to tell either of them about.  
Natasha had finally finished having her hardwired programming removed from her brain via the genius of Fitz and Simmons, who had become friends of the CIA assassins. And Phil liked them enough to have them permanently loaned to Central Intelligence from the D.O.D. as he began to assemble an elite team to solve mysteries across the globe. And he wanted Natasha Romanov to be on it.  
It wasn’t a “we want your skill set”. It was an honest to god “I want you because you are a bad ass and everyone loves working with you and being around you”.  
And she was so happy to tell Clint the news about that before his ass disappeared for a week to god knows where killing god knows who.  
Because that was the mantra they had taught him at 17 in the army. And the one he taught at the CIA at 22. And now the one he taught her after just having turned 25.  
“Travel to interesting places. Meet interesting people. And kill them.” He had said with a huge, wacky ass grin on his face that absolutely melted her heart. Asshole.  
And when he came through the door with a mere “hey”, she waited for him to come to the counter to give her an overdue hug that she had not so secretly become very fond of.  
She punched him in his chest, smirking in both his pain and the solidness of his muscle. It was a win-win for the redhead. And for the other Hawkeye, who was laughing so hard she fell off of her stool.  
“The fuck did I do?” Clint asked, a small smile on his face.  
“No note? No ‘bye see you soon’? No warning, you up and vanished. I’ve slept like shit for a week worried about your dumb ass. Where were you?” she said, the real hurt in her eyes being revealed to him finally.  
“I didn’t’ want to get your hopes up Nat. But. I found him. And I dragged his ass all the way here from a small and remote ass jungle in fucking South America with Hunter and Skye’s help. And he’s in a warehouse, waiting for you.” He said, and the smile on his face was overlain by a serious sheet he made, not showing much emotion.  
“Who?” was both her and Kate’s question. Hers because she knew he could only mean one man. And Kate’s because, well. She had no fucking clue.  
“Sunil fucking Bakshi.” Came the reply from Hunter as he made his way up the stairs with Skye and Bobbi supporting his weight. “Asshat here wanted to tell you as soon as we landed. So he did. And Skye helped me to Bob, who is gonna bandage the god damn bullet hole that asshole shot in my leg.” Hunter grumbled, grabbing for a beer before Bobbi pulled it away from his hand, like a mother to her toddler.  
Or a girlfriend to her dumbass, bleeding boyfriend.  
Skye and Kate sat next to each other, a bit of teenage awkward energy between them as they stole glances at each other. But nobody said anything. They just all pretended to not notice.  
“You really did it Clint. You’ve brought me full circle.” She said, and the small smile on her face was unnoticeable to everyone in the entire fucking room except for the man it was directed at, who allowed himself a small smile at the gorgeous redhead he’d come to find true happiness around.  
You want me to take you to him? Was Clint’s unspoken question, because she didn’t know what she wanted to do.  
Part of her wanted to absolutely fucking torture him, knowing he could never get in her head again. The other part wanted to have the American government deal with him. Because. Well. They were generally pretty fucking brutal to Communist prisoners. Herself being the only real exception.  
When they finally went down there, and she saw the broken man he had become, she decided to let the government have him. He was sane enough to endure that torture until the day his life truly was meant to end. And she had her closure. Because he was going to suffer for making her have no control.  
And with her decision, the FBI took known terrorist and Communist pawn Sunil Bakshi under arrest and had him imprisoned with life in prison without a sliver of a chance of parloe for the hospital bombing in Prague. Because it was, after all, 100% his fault.  
And as a trophy, she kept her call sign. Because she liked it. Because she could be Black Widow and Natasha Romanov  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Somehow it was fucking Christmas by the time the team had finally become situated as a whole in the upper floors of Clint’s apartment building. Because what better place than his mostly empty apartment building than to set up an elite multinational team  
And so the team was Clint Barton (Hawkeye), Natasha Romanov (Black Widow), Kate Bishop (Hawkeye), Skye Coulson (Skye), Lance Hunter (Tosser), Bobbi Morse (Mockingbird), Jemma Simmons (Simmons), and Leo Fitz (Fitz).  
Because with Phil Coulson as their leader, they were gonna be just fine. And they had no use for a name, because, well, they didn’t exactly exist.  
But they were pretty cool for not existing.  
And with two Hawkeyes by her side, ‘cause that would totally never get confusing, Natasha looked onto the horizon from the window in Clint’s apartment, a cup of coffee in her hand that Christmas morning as she stood there, wearing the shirt Clint had given to her that first night there (a faded Bad Religion Crossbuster he had bought at a concert with Hunter back in 88) which was worn from many washings, and a pair of small shorts with a floppy bow in her hair courtesy of Katie Kate. Kate stood there in a purple shirt she had once borrowed from Clint when she needed it for school, donning a Santa hat and bullseye pajamas. Skye was next to Kate, having crashed there after hanging with Kate all day, so they say) and was also dressed in a shirt of Clint’s that Kate had thrown to her to change into and some of Natasha’s shorts. It was a sleeveless black shirt, and she too was enjoying a cup of coffee. On the other side of Clint were Bobbi and Hunter, both of whom were in their own pajamas, having decided to come out and enjoy the sunrise with the rest of them. And then there was Clint, his signature coffee pot in one hand and the other around Natasha’s shoulders as they celebrated their first Christmas together as. Whatever they were. And whatever they were, was pretty warm on the feet because a certain canine was laying on their feet making quick work of leftover pizza. And as was his Christmas tradition, Clint wore a Santa hat and no fucking shirt.  
“Really Clint? With the abs?” Kate asked, snorting as the sun came up. And there wasn’t anyone there who wasn’t smile enjoying the Christmas sun after what had been an unbelievably long year to end the decade.


End file.
